


A Freedom You Might Never Have Accounted For

by ParadifeLoft



Category: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Genderless Character, Monologue, Nonbinary Character, POV First Person, Sith Ideology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadifeLoft/pseuds/ParadifeLoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recalling their past thoughts and feelings, the person who was once Darth Revan struggles with the peace they had achieved under the dark lord's mask, and the uneasiness they feel now in half-wishing they could reclaim that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Freedom You Might Never Have Accounted For

**Author's Note:**

> Weird messing around with my normal writing style in service of self-indulgent genderless Revan headcanons. Yep, that's basically it. When the world gives you maximally gender-marking-less protagonists for gameplay reasons, take them and run with them u__u

_Peace is a lie, there is only passion._ How should I be expected to reject a code whose teachings I felt the truth of - even if I could put no words to it - the moment I placed that mask over my face? When the squirming that had crawled beneath my skin quieted, settling into stillness as whatever identity had been foist upon me for my formative years vanished into a new name, a title, a purpose... Ideology made form has no treacherous body. The meanings to be read in cloth and armour and a scavenged mask were all people desired, and these I was happy to give.

The Council refused me my war, as though any righteous path could take the lives of innocent billions with a turned head and closed eyes - as though inaction might ever silence the insatiable. I had _meditated_ on _peace_ long enough to know that was no answer, even if I had none to provide of my own then to slot into the gap.

And it was that _passion_ I was taught to stifle (good, talented Padawan, gifted knight; but so willful! consumed by your own thoughts!) that gave me presence of mind enough, the clarity I needed to _become_ something, become a leader of our _armies_ and saviour of the galaxy - conqueror yes, and saviour even in that, as you shall know - once I had answered it. Strength, power, victory, each one coming to me as if aimed directly to my person by the Force - by my grasping of the Force, indeed, for it gives only as it is taken. Is it not a victory to destroy my enemies as well as that which would no longer serve me in where I needed to go? Create a wound, as I become some monster, no longer human; but these are your limitations you place upon your own imaginations, where you insist I must live inside these two poles, bound by oppositions of one forever tugging against those of the other. I make nothingness where you insist there must be something, and so comes vilification.

Yet you see no mere man or woman before you now, do you? I am freed, and the chains you once bound me in shimmer in pieces and threads of my robes, refusing to tell what you wish to know. Even those privy to it do not wish to speak of any _past_ supposedly belonging to me; thus I am nothing but what I present before you. And so I conquer through death, indeed - not yours, but that of my false self, of the lies that tried to hold me. I am naught but what I make of myself. Conquerer-through-death; one who takes back what had been lost to rise again, stripped of those pieces which did not fit.

They are many thoughts for a simple name, an identity taken in so simplistic of terms. And you served as the agent of its unmaking.

\- no, I cannot blame you. These are the memories talking, they are hard to - hard to extricate from. All the more so because I do feel much of what I describe, now, even in this different life.

I wish sometimes that you would look at me in this form the way you had looked at me on that bridge. Perhaps it is a strange confession.

... I - Bastila. Please.


End file.
